


Little Boy (Inside My Chest)

by Rowantreeisme



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Arc Reactor, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Dummy is the Best Bot, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Avengers (2012), Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Young Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 12:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13834269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowantreeisme/pseuds/Rowantreeisme
Summary: Curious, Tony stopped, tipped his head, as Fury keyed in a password to the computer. Fury nodded to the monitor, and Tony nearly dropped the suitcase. “Holy mother of Tesla someone fucking cloned me.” He said, stepped forwards, squinted at the screen as his gut protested the fact that he was watching himself sit on a bed in a standard-issue SHIELD dorm room, younger and clean-shaven and wearing what Tony knew had been one of the spare shirts he kept on the base just in case, except it was at least a size too big, and damn, had he really been that skinny when he was a kid? He’s gotten mad at anyone, mostly Rhodey’s mom, who suggested that he eat more, put some meat on his bones, but if this is what he’d looked like?Well. That was one hell of something to deal with at two in the morning.





	Little Boy (Inside My Chest)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for Jace on the TSDL discord server! I really hope you like it, and more is coming soon! Title taken from the barnes courtney song of the same name.

Fury's calls were getting really fucking annoying. He'd called twice in the past 20 minutes, and that was a distraction, one massive, inconvenient distraction, to all the work he had to get done. 

“I am sorry, sir, but he is being rather insistent,” JARVIS said, and Tony sighed, spun around in his chair, waving a wrench around dramatically, reorganizing the various schematics as he did so. 

“Can’t you tell him I’m busy?” Tony asked, rather redundant, because, really, the first 2 times Tony had denied the call should’ve tipped Fury off. “Whatever. Let’s see what he wants.” Tony said, and JARVIS obediently connected the call. 

“We need you at SHIELD, right now.” Fury said as soon as they were on the same line. 

Tony startled, slightly, having half-expected half an hours worth of back-and-forth before Fury got to the point. “Uh, why? As I’m sure JARVIS has told you, I’m pretty busy, can’t just drop everything-” 

“I’m not asking, Stark.” Fury cut him off, and Tony barely opens his mouth to protest before he continued. “We need  _ you _ for this, and we need you  _ now _ . I can’t tell you the problem over the phone, but we need you here as soon as you can get here.” 

Tony, still mildly shell-shocked, narrowed his eyes, checked his growing to-do list, and sighed. He did know that if Fury was asking like this, it really was important. And discreet enough that he wasn’t risking pulling the assemble alarm. “Fine. But you have to explain to Pepper why I haven’t gotten half the shit that I should’ve done.” 

“Deal.” Fury said, and hung up. That, of all things, told Tony that the director was serious.

\---

He was at SHIELD 15 minutes later, having opted to drive himself over rather than fly, considering the unstated need for secrecy. Fury met him in the lobby, which would’ve been worrying on its own even without the phone call. Tony was glad that he’d brought the suitcase suit, something about Fury’s demeanour, still stiff and guarded but somehow… nervous, didn’t sit right with him at all. 

Fury took one look at him, at the suitcase suit, and raised an eyebrow. “Look,” Tony said, walked forwards into the building as Fury fell into step just in front of him, “When you start being unusually cryptic, not that you’re not always cryptic as all hell, seriously, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with, you know, a straightforward answer, I get concerned, and when I get concerned, I bring the armor.” Tony was saying, walking fast to keep up with Fury, fingers rattling on the side of the case. “So… are you gonna tell me what’s going on? Seriously-” Fury shot him a glare, and Tony narrowed his eyes. “Really. You’re not- not even in your own goddamn building, huh? What the hell  _ is _ this?” Tony said, almost to himself, because it was clear Fury wasn’t paying him a bit of attention aside from making sure he was following.

They marched, really, marched was the only apt descriptor, at this point, further into the building, but not down to the labs or the containment facilities like Tony had expected, but to the part of the building that held living quarters. This part was obviously higher security, both physical and electronic locks on the doors, plain and unnumbered, but also obviously not being used, aside from the table and laptop set up and wired into the wall across from one of the rooms. Oh, yeah, and the armed guards at each end of the hallway that checked both his and Fury’s identity before letting them through. That was also worrying. 

Curious, Tony stopped, tipped his head, as Fury keyed in a password to the computer. Fury nodded to the monitor, and Tony nearly dropped the suitcase. “Holy mother of Tesla someone fucking cloned me.” He said, stepped forwards, squinted at the screen as his gut protested the fact that he was watching himself sit on a bed in a standard-issue SHIELD dorm room, younger and clean-shaven and wearing what Tony knew had been one of the spare shirts he kept on the base just in case, except it was at least a size too big, and damn, had he really been that skinny when he was a kid? He’s gotten mad at anyone, mostly Rhodey’s mom, who suggested that he eat more, put some meat on his bones, but if this is what he’d looked like? 

Fury made a disagreeing noise, breaking Tony out of his thoughts. “He isn’t a clone, unless whoever made him — and it  _ wasn’t _ us, don’t give me that look, Stark — didn’t particularly care for keeping him in one piece.” Fury growled, “And clones don’t usually have memories.” 

And, yeah, now that Fury has pointed it out, now that he was looking somewhere other than his other self’s face, like looking in a distorted mirror, like seeing a living, breathing picture of himself from decades ago, he could see what Fury was talking about. There was a scar on his forearm, long and jagged, thin and pinker than Tony’s own, newer than Tony’s own, easily visible on the screen thanks to SHIELD’s cameras, from when he’d slipped hauling a piece of freshly cut sheet metal up the stairs during DUM-E’s creation and managed to slice his own arm open in the resulting tumble. 

He resisted the urge to scratch at the mirroring mark on his arm. He turned back to Fury. “I don’t remember this.” He admitted, and then, “Wait, memories?” He asked, turned back to the screen, and, yeah, shit, that was not the expression a blank slate straight out of a test tube would be wearing. No, that was one hundred percent patented Tony Stark, angry, and frustrated, and  _ scared _ , but hiding the latter under the former two. “You did… you did give him some indication that you’re not actually holding him for ransom, or anything, right?” He asked, mostly rhetorical, because no way would Fury be stupid enough to make him think he’d be kidnapped, and put him in a room with a tv, and a security camera, and a  _ microwave _ and think everything would turn out peachy-keen. 

“Of course.” Fury said, like it was obvious, “You knew about SHIELD at that age, and we were able to dig up some of Howard’s old codes. We’ve told him we’re holding him for his own safety, but we can’t keep him much longer.”

“Not without him busting out.” Tony muttered, couldn’t look away from the screen, “Why is he wearing my clothes?” He asked, realized just how ridiculous that statement was a second after saying it, considering that he was  _ him _ , and so his clothes were also his clothes, and damn, this was getting confusing. He mentally resolved to call his… double, younger self,  _ whatever _ , Anthony. That… That wasn’t really helping, made him all the more aware that the person in that room was  _ him _ , but also distanced himself from it, somehow, and the cognizant dissonance was like seeing a different image out of each eye, past and future and here and now overlaying into something that made him vaguely dizzy. 

“Because his looked like he’d gotten into a fight with fucking wildfire.” Fury growled, obviously displeased with, what, that his younger self had been evidently playing with fire sometime before he’d gotten to  _ this _ time, as if it wasn’t public knowledge that he’d been a hair’s breadth away from blowing himself up his entire run at MIT. “He set off the alarms at the upstate facility,” Fury explained, “We assumed that it was time-travel, once someone recognized him, but since you do not remember-” 

Tony nodded. “Then either the timeline’s already split off, or for some reason, there won’t be any memories of this after he goes back.” He finished, couldn’t refer to the kid in there as  _ him _ . Had to keep thinking of them as separate, as different. Could  _ not _ think that this had happened, to him, that he’d been there and  _ didn’t remember it _ . He cleared his throat, blinked hard to clear his head. “So, why am I  _ here _ .”

Fury looked at him like he was an idiot. “Because we cannot keep him here forever. You know that even better than I do.”

Tony was starting to get a sinking feeling about this. “You want me to take him.” He said, and, wow, words could not describe how little he wanted to do that. Fury was still looking at him, as if that was answer enough, and Tony turned and started walking away, digging his phone out of his pocket. Fury made a noise, as if to call out to the guards to stop him, and Tony cut him off, spreading both hands with a flourish. “Look at me, Nick. You know who I look like, right now, and if I go in there? It will not end well.” He said, and the only other time he’d been this uncomfortably aware of how much he’d grown up to look like his father was on that first day on the helicarrier, trading insults with Steve Rogers. 

Fury glared at him some more, but didn’t stop him. “What are you recommending we do then, Stark?” He asked, and it was an order, it was a sit down and shut the hell up while the adults are talking  _ order _ , and Tony just grinned. 

“I’m gonna make a call.” He said, and dialled his phone.

\---

Rhodey was decidedly not happy when he picked up the phone. He made that evidently clear by groaning loudly. “The hell do you want, Tony, It’s like…” There was a soft thumping sound, and Rhodey groaned again. “Tony, it’s 2am. I swear to god, if this isn’t important-” Rhodey threatened, the potential fierceness massively overshadowed by how he still sounded like all he wanted to do was curl back up in his blankets and go back to sleep. 

Tony cut him off. “It’s important,” He said, took a breath, dug way, way back into his memory. “It’s protocol 36-b. It… kinda happened.” He explained, apologetic. Fury gave him a look, and Tony shrugged. 

Rhodey made a confused sound. “36- what, what oh  _ shit _ , really?” He said, and Tony could hear the rustle of blankets across the line, something heavy hitting the floor, as Rhodey all but leapt out of bed. “Jesus, are you alright?” He asked, over the sound of a belt jangling. 

“I’m fine.” Tony assured him hurriedly, “I’m at SHIELD, really need you get over here though.” He said, paused, “I don’t remember this.” He said, softer, “He’s 17, and _ I don’t remember this _ .” 

“Alright, Tony.” Rhodey said, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

The line clicked off, and Tony sighed, and leaned against the wall, slipping his phone back in his pocket. Now, all he could do was wait. 

\---

One of the scientists Fury had working on the problem had come in just after Tony had made his call, and before he’d had to go back to his lab, Tony had cornered him and they’d hashed out that no, there wasn’t any extreme danger in telling him anything, that if Tony didn’t remember it there wasn't any danger of paradoxes occurring, but that he wasn’t a psychologist and revealing anything that could be considered traumatizing should be done with discretion. The scientist had given Tony’s chest a pointed glance then, and Tony had resisted the urge to punch the man in the face. Or cover the reactor with his palm, for all that it was covered by his shirts. 

Rhodey had arrived about 15 minutes later, looking far to put-together for someone who had just been woken up, holding two go-cups of coffee. Tony made grabbing motions for one of them when Rhodey got past security, but he just held it up out of his reach. “Not for you.” He said, raised an eyebrow at Fury, who stared him down for a second before gesturing to the door, which unlocked with a click when he keyed in something to the laptop. 

Tony stayed well back, not quite willing to let Anthony see him, not yet, at least, but he could see the monitor from where he was standing, could see the wariness on Anthony’s face morph to recognition and relief, and then wide-eyed shock. “Rhodey-” He said, stopped himself, took in the lines around his friend’s eyes, his mouth, took in how tall he was, accepted the go-cup that Rhodey passed him automatically. “What’s going on?” He whispered, and if Tony could never hear himself sounding that  _ lost _ ever again, it would be too soon. Anthony cleared his throat, visibly drawing himself up, and in, composing himself, “I want to speak to Obie, I want to know-” 

The words were stronger and Tony was glad for that, glad that the him-that-wasn’t-him had found his footing, but Tony couldn’t hear a word. 

Figures, that he’d plan for this, plan how to get the kid back to the tower without suspicion, planned what to tell him about what year it was, planned on how to get him back, and forget about Stane. That his past self’s memories of him weren’t tainted and ruined by what had happened, that the eventual betrayal hadn’t been obvious back then. The thing with hindsight was that you forgot what things had looked like looking forwards. 

And then Fury was gesturing to him to go in, too, because Rhodey had apparently explained the situation as best he could, and, huh, he’d lost about five minutes to the roaring of his ears there, that hadn’t happened since- 

He cut the train of thought off there. He did  _ not _ need to think about that, and stepped into the doorway. Anthony was staring at him, holding the cup of coffee in his hands like it was the end of his rope, and made a disbelieving noise. “Hi.” Tony said, more than a little awkwardly, hand not still holding the suitcase stuffed in his pocket. “So, I’m… you,” He said, edged towards Rhodey and tried to take his cup of coffee, because seriously, he didn’t have a cup of something warm and caffeinated in his hands and that was a tragedy, but Rhodey was far too used to his tricks by now, and just took another sip with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re me.” Anthony repeated, and, you know what? It was better that he didn’t remember this, because then he’d be able to see both sides of this conversation, and that might actually break his brain. “How are you- how is this possible?” 

“Time-travel. SHIELD’s working on it,” Tony replied, “For a given value of working. Not sure-” Rhodey elbowed him before he could start in on just what he thought of most of SHIELD’s science staff, and he closed his mouth with a snap.

Anthony’s eyes were narrowed, and he opened his mouth, then shut it again. “Ok.” He said. “What are you going to do with me?” He asked, voice flat, and Tony shrugged.

“Take you back to the tower, I guess. Find you some clothes that fit, because those… those don’t, and-” Tony paused, “You can meet everyone else, I guess, and we’ll figure out how to get you back if it doesn't fix itself.” 

“I want to talk to Obie.” Anthony said, and Tony had to bite back a grimace, had to roll the potential responses — none of them sympathetic, none of them at all appropriate — in his head around long enough that Rhodey opened his mouth, and, god, what he would say would no doubt be even worse than Tony because he  _ hated _ Stane somehow even more than Tony did, so Tony stepped forwards.

“He’s dead.” Tony said, tried to put at least some sympathy into the words. Miracle of miracles, he did, actually manage to sound sorry. Maybe because  _ hate _ was too simple a word for Stane. Maybe because he’d never wanted the man dead, maybe because he  _ was _ sorry. Sorry he had to die, sorry he couldn’t save him, sorry that Stane had forced his hand. “Plane crash.”

Anthony looked… well, pretty damn horrified, but he smoothed his expression remarkably quickly, eyes narrowed and darting between Rhody, Tony, and the open door. That wasn’t good. That was the face of someone calculating escape routes, that was the face of someone who didn’t believe a word coming out of Tony’s mouth. Well, Tony was not telling him the truth now. Not here. Not at SHIELD. “So my options are to stay here, or go back to… wherever, with you.” He stated, and Tony nodded.

“That’s about the size of it.” He said, stepped away from the door, both as an offer, and both so that if Anthony decided to cut his losses and fight his way out he wouldn’t be in the way. He turned to the door. He didn’t waste any breath on plaintive like “We’re not going to hurt you,” or “You’re going to be safe with us,” because honestly, if Anthony didn’t trust them, those were not going to help. He stepped out of the room instead, waiting for Rhodey and Anthony to follow, because they would, Anthony would take his chances being moved if there was a chance that he could escape while they were doing it, and Rhodey would follow him. 

Fury shot him a look as the others stepped out beside him, which Tony ignored. “Keep in contact.” He ordered. “If something happens, if you find a way to send him back-“ 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell you.” Tony waved him off, started back down the hall, glared at the guards at the end of the hall until Fury waved them off. Anthony was, frankly, a twitchy mess, almost-flinching every time anyone moved, tapping at his leg and at his arm and trying to look at everything at once. 

Yeah. Pretty standard kidnapped behaviour for Tony. The halls were clear as they made it back down to the garage, to Tony’s car, and he was sure he had Fury to thank for that. He raised an eyebrow at the nearest camera as he slid into the driver’s seat, Anthony and Rhodey getting into the back seemingly without talking. 

Tony locked the doors as soon as he started the engine. He really,  _ really  _ did not want the kid trying to bail in the middle of the street. Which he would, if you gave him half a chance, and really, dealing with the road-rash was not worth it. Not even a little bit. 

The drive back to the tower was, in a word, tense as  _ fuck,  _ despite Rhodey trying to start up conversation. Tony mostly just focused on getting there as quickly as possible. 

“So,” Tony said, shutting the car completely off, “This is Stark Tower,” he said, rather lamely, and Anthony snorted, but didn’t say anything else. Still playing along, then. Not ideal, but, eh, he could work with it. He clapped his hands together, and started for the private elevator, the one that only he could use, when Rhodey and Anthony stopped in front of the general elevator. “I’m going to the workshop. You wanna come?” He asked, and Rhodey gave him a look from behind Anthony, but didn’t say anything. Anthony was visibly torn, looking between Tony and Rhodey, trying to figure out if this was a trap, or a trick question, trying to figure out the correct answer, then shrugged, taking loose-looking strides over to Tony. 

“Sure.” He said, and then grinned. “Lead the way, old man.” 

“I am not old!” Tony sputtered, and he knew Rhodey was holding in a laugh, and he spun, pointing at him. “You’re older, you don’t get to laugh.” He snapped, which only made Rhodey laugh harder. “Fine, be like that. Bring us down some food later, yeah?” He asked, instead, and Rhodey gave him a look, but shrugged as the elevator doors closed, tried to bite down the sigh of relief. Thank god for Rhodey, and thank god for him knowing when Tony was asking for a little more time. 

The doors opened, and Tony stepped through, raised an eyebrow when Anthony didn’t immediately follow. “What’s in the workshop?” He asked, suspicious and trying not to sound it. 

“Stuff.” Tony answered, “Really, that’s the only thing I can say, just… stuff, come on, you know what we’re like, I don’t even know what at least a quarter of the things down there are because I either made them while half-asleep or at a board meeting, hell, there could already be a goddamn time machine down there and all our problems would be solved, but I wouldn’t know because sleep-deprived me is  _ insane _ .” Tony said, leaning against the wall of the elevator, and grinned to himself when finally, Anthony slipped inside the doors. 

The elevator ride was quick, and Tony stayed to his corner, pretending to be busy in his phone for the half a minute it took, not really liking the way Anthony was staring at him from the corner of his eye like he was bracing for an attack. 

And then they were at the workshop, lights coming on in rows, illuminating the workbenches and computers, and the bots, gathered around the door to welcome him home. Of course, DUM-E wheeled back up to pretend to clean… something, as soon as Tony keyed in the passcode, pretending that he hadn’t been dicking around with the blender the whole time Tony was gone instead of doing his goddamn job, but, Tony saw with relief, the case holding the armours had been covered up with some spare blankets. 

Anthony pushed past him, suddenly unafraid of whoever he thought Tony was, or, maybe just finally believing that he was who he said he was. Despite everything else in the workshop he could’ve focused on, he made a beeline to DUM-E, who beeped excitedly at the kid. “This is real.” He said, so softly that Tony wouldn't’ve heard him had he not been almost entirely focused on him, hands running over DUM-E’s frame, checking every little scratch and imperfection, and the bot preened at the attention. “I’m not- you’re  _ me.”  _ Anthony spun around, not bothering to hide how angry he was, shoulders hunched and hands balled into fists, braced in front of DUM-E. “You’re me, and you  _ lied.”  _ He snarled, glaring at Tony, and Tony hesitated long enough, deciding whether to lie, to lie to the kid who was standing in front of him wearing his  _ face, _ that he noticed. “Tell me what happened. Don’t lie to me.” His double said, looking up at him in the same damn way Tony had looked at Howard at that age, and he couldn’t. “Whatever it is, however bad, I just want to  _ know.”  _ Anthony said, voice tight and just on the knife’s edge of furious, and Tony knew he wasn’t going to lie. 

“It’s bad.” Tony said, both to try to give the kid some warning, and to give himself a buffer, maybe, because this was going to hurt. No matter how much he softened the blow. 

Anthony just stared at him, hand tight on DUM-E’s strut, like he was grounding himself. “I. Don’t.  _ Care. _ ” He snapped, and Tony nodded. 

“He was selling weapons to terrorists, behind my back, behind everyone’s back, for at least 8 years.” Tony started without preamble, keeping his voice even with a force of will, and he couldn’t look at himself. Couldn’t see when Anthony realized that one of the only people he’d had in his corner never really had been. “He knew I would shut him down if I knew. So-“

“He put a hit out on you.” Anthony whispered, and Tony nodded. 

“Yeah. He paid the same terrorists to kill me, and, unfortunately for everyone involved, the terrorists decided to… not. Kill me, that is. Thought I’d be more useful alive.” Tony’s voice was shaking now, just a little bit, and Anthony either hadn’t noticed or was good enough not to mention it. His had was pressed tight against the reactor, still hidden beneath his shirts. 

Anthony was still standing, but his grip on DUM-E was white-knuckled now. 

Tony decided to skip the details. “I got out. Yinsen, the doctor, he’d saved me, didn’t.” He continued, didn’t see Anthony mouth the name along with him, took a breath, and tried to go on. “He pretended to be on my side the whole time after I got back. He didn’t- I believed him until he  _ told _ me otherwise. And by then- by then he’d already nearly killed me again.”

Anthony was staring at him, wide-eyed and unbelieving, and Tony couldn’t look at him, had to press his hand into his chest even harder, until it physically hurt, like he could keep it safe from the ghost that never seemed to go to rest. 

“He nearly killed me,” Tony repeated, “And he was going to kill Pepper, who, I’m guessing you don’t have, and  _ civilians,”  _ Tony said, mostly succeeded in keeping himself detached from the very real memories. “He tried to kill people. He almost succeeded. I didn’t - He didn’t give me a choice.”

“You killed him.” Anthony accused, almost stepping backwards, if not for DUM-E behind him. Tony couldn’t say a word, they were all caught somewhere in his chest, in his lungs, behind the arc reactor. “I don’t believe you.” He continued, “Obie wouldn’t  _ do  _ that. I don’t believe you.” He repeated, a mantra, more something that he was trying to convince himself, than Tony. 

“He would. He  _ did.”  _ Tony snapped, glared down at himself, “Because he was a liar and a traitor and a  _ murderer  _ and he never care about either of us beyond how much money we could make him!” Toys spat, angry in a way he hadn’t been since after, after he hadn’t been able to sit on his goddamn couch, how he couldn’t touch a piano, pissed and  _ showing  _ it for the first time in decades of pretending to mourn the fucker that has nearly killed him 3 times over. 

“Stop it!” Anthony yelled, and if Tony had bothered to look there was something else in his eyes, in his posture, mostly supported by DUM-E at this point, that was beyond denial, beyond anger, and Tony didn’t  _ care.  _

“You asked me for the  _ truth _ .” Tony said, cold as the absence of the reactor. “ _ You _ wanted to know. Don’t you  _ dare  _ blame me for telling you.”

“I don’t believe you.” Anthony whispered again, defiant despite the evidence staring him in the face, and Tony growled. 

“Fine. You know what, I’m mature enough to know that I wouldn’t believe me, either. So I don’t care.” Tony snapped, whirled, grabbed a tablet off the work table he’d been standing against, and shoved it into Anthony’s chest. “Believe  _ this,  _ then. Plenty of footage.,” Tony said, spun on his heel., “Sure you can figure it out.” Tony caught the look on Anthony’s face and sighed. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to know.” Tony snapped defensively, turned and stalked towards the fabrication room, Tony didn’t look back, grabbed some tools he couldn’t see clearly enough to really recognize, a pair of welding goggles, kept walking. “I can’t be here. Have  _ fun.” _

He didn’t see the way Anthony sagged against DUM-E when Tony left the room, or his distraught expression. 

That was maybe for the best. 

—-

Tony had only been working for about 15 minutes, banging around on the fabrication units, when JARVIS interrupted him. 

“Sir… It appears that Anthony is having a severe anxiety attack. Nothing I have done has helped, so far. I believe-“

And JARVIS was still taking, something about the fact that he’d stripped to his tank top while he was working, that the reactor was showing through, but Tony didn’t care, he was up and running back to the workshop proper before JARVIS had finished the word “attack.”

Anthony was sitting on the ground, half under a workbench, eyes wide and blank and he wasn’t breathing right, a rasping whistle that was far too fast to be at all effective, and DUM-E was hovering over him, and-

DUM-E was pressing one of the spare reactors into Anthony’s hand, and his other hand was fisted in his shirt over his chest and the discarded tablet was blank but Tony already knew what piece of footage Anthony had been watching, and DUM-E had always been more observant than anyone gave him credit for. 

“Kid, hey, look at me, alright?l Tony said, kneeling a foot away from him, not wanting to spook the kid, but Anthony didn’t respond at all, just kept wheezing like he was having an asthma attack. Tony took a breath. “Ok. Ok. I’m going to touch you now, ok, just-“

Anthony flinched wildly backwards when Tony touched his hand to his arm, barely a brush of fingers, no matter that he’d moved so slowly it nearly hurt, and Tony blocked the now-empty fist he’d sent flailing towards Tony with ease, flattened his hand so Anthony’s still closed fist hit his palm, stayed still and as patient as he could while Anthony was still trying to hit him.

“Hey.” Tony said, trying for soft and missing by about a mile, “HEY!” Again but louder when Anthony got a lucky hit to his shoulder, grabbed his fist in his own. “You need to calm the fuck down, kid. Just, seriously goddamn-“ Tony said, mostly for the sake of filling the silence than anything else, no real bite in his voice. 

Dealing with his own panic-attack from the other side was certainly one of the weirdest experiences in his life, he’d decided. Anthony was still nowhere near with Tony, aware enough he wasn’t alone to have the tears building in his eyes stay there, but nothing more. He still wasn’t breathing and Tony was genuinely worried he was going to asphyxiate at this point. 

Desperate, too scared for Anthony’s sake to think about it much, he pressed Anthony’s fist, covered by his own, to his own chest, nearly covering the light from the reactor, shining out of his shirt. He didn’t know why, really, aside from a slightly hazy memory of Rhodey doing the same for him about a week after coming home, when he was still relearning how to breathe. 

He’d already fucked up with Anthony. The least he could do was give him what he’d already learned. He breathed in, exaggerating the slow movement, and Anthony’s eyes locked on their hands, on Tony’s chest. “Breath, slowly, that’s it,” He said, keeping his voice low, as Anthony followed with mix success. The tears hadn’t stayed back, and they were sliding down his face as he still struggled to get enough air. “You have to- use your diaphragm, not your chest, in your belly, slow out. Like… yeah, like that, but slower. I know- I know it sucks, and it’s hard, and your body really,  _ really  _ does not want to cooperate right now, but you can do this.” Tony said, put his other hand on Anthony’s arm, counted it as a success when he didn’t flinch, and leaned into it, instead. He still wasn’t breathing right, and he was swaying a little bit, like he was still lightheaded. Like he still wasn’t getting enough oxygen. 

“Hey.” Tony said, tried to catch Anthony’s eyes, tried to get him to be somewhat aware of the situation, and when that didn’t work, gestured for JARVIS to up the lab’s oxygen concentration,just kept breathing in rhythm, kept talking, meaningless things that he could tell Anthony latched onto all the same, stupid shit DUM-E had done, stupid shit  _ he’d _ done, stupid things he’d gotten Rhodey to do at MIT, and that seemed to help, at least a little. 

All he could do aside from that was wait. 

He waited until Anthony seemed mostly back to himself, aware of his surroundings again, and couldn’t help but laugh a little at the utter absurdity of the situation. 

Anthony glared at him, and Tony shook his head. “No, I’m not laughing at you.” He said, and when Anthony pearly didn’t believe him, elaborated. “Here I was, freaking out about breaking space-time, paradoxes and all that stuff, and this isn’t even time travel. Just… bit of a relief to have this be something we know how to deal with.” He explained. 

“I know.” Anthony said, taking off the mask to give Tony a look, like it was obvious, “Never thought it was time travel.” He said, and Tony shrugged.

“Got a leg up on me, then.” Tony said, and paused for a beat. “I should’ve realized. That- I should have noticed, and I didn’t, and-“

“Me too.” Anthony cut him off, “I just-“ He sighed, “I didn’t want to believe you.”

Tony closed his eyes. “I know kid. I know.” He said, stayed quiet for a minute, scrubbed a tired hand over his face. “Well, at least now that we know it’s not  _ time-travel _ we can get you home. I can call Richards, get him to set up-”

“What if I don’t want to?” Anthony said, so softly that Tony nearly missed it, nearly talked right over him if it hadn’t been for DUM-E, whirring softly and reaching over Anthony to poke Tony in the shoulder, “What if- I don’t  _ want _ to go back?” He repeated, harder this time, hands curling into fists, tight enough that they were shaking, “Jarvis, and, and Ana, and mom, and-” His voice broke, and Tony couldn’t do anything but sit there, quiet and shocked but really not all that surprised, “And, why  _ should _ I? If, if Obie- if you’re right, if-” He took a loud, angry-sounding breath, pressed his hands into his eyes so hard it had to hurt, and when he took them away his eyes were wet. “What’s the  _ point?  _ I thought- what’s the point if everyone’s gone?” 

Without thinking, Tony scooted forwards enough to pull the kid into a hug, realizing only after Anthony had not only accepted it, but pushed into it, hands fisted in the back of Tony’s shirt tight enough that it was pulling, face hidden in Tony’s shoulder, and Tony didn’t comment on the fact that he was shaking. “You know why,” He said, barely above a whisper, “I- I’m not  _ you _ . I can’t tell you what to do, and no one here will force you to go back, if you don’t want to.” Tony promised, was already thinking of what  _ that _ would entail, “We’ll figure something out, if you wanted to stay,” He took a breath, and Anthony shifted, bony knees digging into Tony’s stomach before folding in a way that wasn’t quite so uncomfortable. 

“But?” Anthony pressed, the word barely above a breath, quiet and watery and broken in the middle, like he’d been crying, and even though it's been obvious before, Tony still hugged him just a little tighter. 

Tony closed his eyes. “You know why.” Tony repeated, “It’s not-  _ It’s not your fault _ ,” He with vehemence, because it wasn’t, not like it’d been his, because Anthony, because the fucking  _ kid _ crying silently against his chest, hadn’t even gotten the  _ chance _ to try to learn what the company that wasn’t even  _ his _ yet was doing behind his back, hadn’t  _ turned _ his back for  _ years _ . “It’s not your fault, but I know that if it were me, I’d- I’d still want to fix it. I’d still  _ try _ to fix it.” 

Anthony didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge Tony’s words at all, but he was still breathing, uneven half-sobs, but breaths all the same, and Tony tried to fight down the lump in his own throat. That wouldn’t be any help, not here, not now. 

He didn’t know how to help, not really, didn’t know what to do aside from keep holding on as Anthony cried himself out in his arms. After a while, he stopped shaking, but didn’t try to move, away or otherwise, so neither did Tony. “Hey, kid?” Tony said, continuing when Anthony made a questioning sound, “You’re not alone. Not- not as much as you might think, alright? Rhodey will  _ always  _ try to find you, that stubborn asshole, and you can’t ever count the bots out, and even if that’s it  _ you’ll find more people _ .” Tony promised, “Because that’s what life  _ is _ , you lose people, and it sucks, it hurts like  _ hell _ , but you always find more. Even if you don’t know it.” 

Anthony didn’t respond to that, not verbally, but Tony thought he might’ve lost some of the tension that had been stringing him up razor-tight. 

They sat in relative silence, as silent as it could get in the workshop, until Anthony cleared his throat, scooted backwards, and Tony didn’t comment when he wiped his face on the back of his hand. “So, you said you had experience with… this sort of this thing? What did you mean with that?” He asked, curiosity plain in his voice. “Is dimensional travel a thing here?”

“Kinda wish it wasn’t,” Tony muttered, sitting up straighter and gesturing for a hologram, caught Anthony’s confused look. “It’s mostly not on our end,” he explained, bringing up mission reports for some of the less… messy missions, “But yeah, dimensional slip-ups, or holes, or intentional invasion happens about bi-weekly.” He shrugged. “That’s kinda our job, here. Cleaning this stuff up.”

Anthony was looking over the holograms, poking at them like they were familiar, brow furrowed as he combed through the data. “Bi-weekly as in twice a week? Or every two weeks?” He asked, and Tony laughed. 

“Depends on the week we’re having.” He answered with a smile. He saw when Anthony made his way to the end of the files, because he stopped, brow furrowing further with every passing second. 

“These are dated for more than a year ago.” He said flatly, not looking up, and Tony wasn’t sure what he was calculating, what numbers he was running in his head, what the dates on the folders had told him. 

Tony glanced towards the nearest camera, as if JARVIS could help him, but the AI remained silent. “...yeah?” He said, drawing the word out, “I’ve been doing this for a while, I don’t know-“

“You shouldn’t be alive.” Anthony said, still looking down, brow furrowed and gaze inwards, one hand pressing back over the reactor, “I did the math, I can’t- I thought-“ He was saying, looked up helplessly, “You still have  _ this _ and I did the math-“ Anthony repeated, and it clicked. 

“Fuck.” Tony said, staring at Anthony, because how the  _ fuck  _ had he forgotten  _ that?  _ “Fuck.” He said again, reaching over to where the spare reactor had rolled when Anthony had let go of it, “I fixed it.” He told the kid, “These don’t run on palladium, I fixed it, it’s safe.” He was saying, bringing holograms up of the current schematics, the new element, and Anthony was staring at it all wide-eyed. 

“This doesn’t exist.” He said, reaching out like he wanted to touch, like he was afraid it was going to be ripped out of his grasp. “This isn’t possible, and even if it was-” 

Tony pushed the hologram towards him, forwards and out until it was surrounding them both. “It’s possible.” He said softly, felt his mouth twist into a lopsided smile. “You did tell me not to lie, so, I’m not.”

Anthony was still staring at the element, eyes wide and sharp, visibly searching for any sign of a lie. He wasn’t going to find one, Tony knew that, the fact that he was still alive was proof enough of that, but he also knew that he wasn’t going to believe it, not really, not fully. Tony passed over the spare, recognizing the twitches of Anthony’s hands and the way he was glancing at it, and the kid immediately started turning it around, examining the inner workings visible behind the crystal face, held it up to his ear and frowned. 

“You’ve doubled your rotations.” He said, still frowning, looked back at Tony. “Why the hell-”

“More power.” Tony replied, shrugging, and Anthony made a face. 

“But you don’t  _ need _ any more power, not for what you’re using it for, and with that many RPM, it’d be so much easier to push it into an overload, and the discharge-” He said, thinking out loud, turning the reactor over and over in his hands.

“The discharge would be pretty amazing,” Tony agreed readily,, “Especially if I overload it on purpose.” He said, with a shit-eating grin. “No one sane’s gonna mess with that.”

Anthony  _ gaped _ at him. “No one sane would overload it in the first place!” He said, staring at Tony like he’d just realized that he might, in fact, be talking to a crazy person, a look that Tony was not unfamiliar with. His eyes narrowed, and Tony could see the light bulb click on. “Not unless there’s a good reason. And not without the hardware necessary, and you’d need more power-”

“Bingo,” Tony said, and waved his hand at the wall of the workshop holding the armours, and U grabbed the sheet hiding them, and tugged it away at the same time as JARVIS turned the display lightings on, and Anthony shot to his feet. “I’m assuming you recognize the mark one.” Tony said, getting to his feet as well, giving the kid some room.

“Mine was smaller.” He said, absently, and Tony laughed. 

“Yeah, because you are.” Tony shot back, “It’d have to be fun-sized to fit  _ you _ .” 

“Hey!” Anthony, turning to glare at him for a second before turning back to the armours.

Tony shrugged, even though he couldn’t see him. “You know it’s true. I- We, were pretty damn tiny when we were kids.” 

“We’re not the same person.” Anthony said, not turning around, clearly cataloguing the differences between the mark one he remembered, that he built, and the one that was in front of him. “And I’m not a kid.” 

“I’m two decades older than you, I’m allowed to call you a kid.” Tony said, paused for just a second, tried to wrap his head around, well, all of this. He couldn’t, not really, couldn’t think of the  _ kid _ , and yes, despite the fact that he  _ remembered _ saying the same thing at that age, telling everyone who would listen and everyone that refused to, that he  _ wasn’t _ a kid, he  _ was _ , as himself. 

Anthony was right, they weren’t the same person. Maybe Tony had been him, years and years and years ago, maybe things had changed before that, but they weren’t the same person now. Not even close. 

Close enough that it was still weird to watch  _ himself  _ staring up at the armour. “It’s flight-capable.” He stated, not even remotely a question, not looking away. 

Tony answered anyways. “Who do you think I am?” Tony asked, “Of course they are. After the first mark, that is. Mark two couldn’t go that high, started freezing over too quickly to get any really impressive distance, but yeah. I can fly.” He said, and Anthony spun around.

“Can I fly it?” He asked, and Tony should’ve been waiting for that question, recognized the look in the kid’s eyes, recognized the desperation to get off the ground, the need to just be  _ free _ , even of something as inescapable as gravity. “I mean, I’ve got the hardware, right, and I’m sure that you have ways to make sure I don’t fly off with it-”

“No.” Tony said, tried not to wince at the dismay Anthony showed for a second, just before his face shuttered. “I’m sorry, but you  _ can’t _ .” 

“Yeah, no, wasn’t… wasn’t expecting to- I wouldn’t want someone else touching my stuff either, I-” Anthony said, false-casual, brushed it off like it hadn’t really ever mattered to him anyway, and Tony hurried to explain. 

“Because you won’t  _ fit _ .” Tony said, “You’re not tall enough, or wide enough, and these things are like a tux, if it doesn't fit properly there’s really no point in wearing it.” Tony said, tipped his head, considering. “I could probably rig up a set of boots and gauntlets, though, like my first test-go. Those aren’t nearly as important, fit-wise, and you couldn’t go all that high, but it’d work, and pretty much anyone can wear the helmet.” Anthony’s face lit up at the possibility, and Tony held up a hand. “Three conditions though, alright?” 

Anthony narrowed his eyes, but nodded, visibly bouncing on his toes.

“One,” Tony said, ticking off a finger, “You wear a helmet. I’m not compromising on this, if you die because i let you fly around so, so many people would kill me, I’m not even joking about this, Fury would kill me, and Pepper would kill me, Rhodey wouldn’t but he’d be pissed, you’ve gotta wear a helmet.” 

Anthony looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Because  _ you _ wore a helmet when you tested them?” He asked, and, well, he had to give the kid that, at least. 

“That’s different.” Tony waved it off. “I barely got 5 feet up.” 

“If I remember correctly,” JARVIS said, voice icy, and Tony cursed him, “The reason your test flights were so lacking in height and time was because you  _ flew into the roof _ .” He finished, and Tony glared at the nearest camera. 

“He did not have to know that, J.” Tony snapped, and JARVIS hummed in disagreement, the single tone saying, yes, in fact, he  _ did _ have to know that. Anthony was staring at the ceiling, too, looking around with his eyes wide, and Tony grinned. “Right, Tiny me, meet JARVIS, my AI. JARVIS, meet mini-me.” He said, caught the look on Anthony’s face. “I named him after Jarvis.” He said, softer than before, not- not pitying,  _ god _ he wasn’t pitying, but sympathetic down to his bones.

“If I might,” JARVIS said quietly, “It is a pleasure to meet you.” 

Anthony’s eyes were suspiciously bright when he smiled back up on the ceiling. “Nice to meet you too, JARVIS.” He said, turned back to Tony with narrowed eyes. “Other two conditions?” 

“You swap out the reactor for the new one.” Tony said, “That reactor, the one you’re using, is not meant for sustained flight, trust me on this, and no,” He continued, recognizing the look in his eyes, “I’m you, I know what you’re thinking. I know what you’re going to say, and that was  _ not _ sustained flight. The repulsors — way better than chemical, trust me — while more efficient, also take a lot more to power. You need to switch it. Even without the fact that it is still poisoning you.”

Anthony was looking at the spare reactor still in his hand, other hand tapping against the reactor, and, hey, that was a fun habit they both seemed to have picked up independently. 

“Fair warning,” Tony said, just before Anthony swapped them, “It’s gonna feel weird. Not painful, but, pretty damn unpleasant.”

Anthony gave him a look. “Can you possibly be any vaguer?” he asked, but he was already reaching under his shirts, and thanks to the quiet in the lab Tony could hear when the first reactor released. Anthony swore quietly as he was putting the spare in, clearly not used to doing it, unable to do it one handed or without looking, but it did, eventually, click home. 

He knew the instant the reactor started to take effect, saw it’s glow despite the two layers of shirts it had to get through, because Anthony made a face, shook his arms out, gave a full-body shudder. “The fuck-“ he started, cut himself off with a grimace as the glow died. “That’s… better.” He said uncertainly, looking down at himself, seemed to accept that he was, in fact, better. And then he looked at Tony, face still twisted up in confusion. “Why does everything taste like coconut?”

Anthony sounded so painfully uncertain that Tony had to hold in a laugh. “No clue.” Tony admitted. “It’s… listen, I didn’t exactly have time to test it my go around, I don’t know why the coconut is a thing.”

“Does it wear off?” He asked. 

“As far as I can tell, no.” Tony told him. “You do get so used to it that you can’t actually taste it anymore, though. If that’s a plus.”

Anthony made a face, and started pacing, trying to burn off some of the restless energy. “You know it’s not. Jesus, you were not wrong when you said this was weird, this stuff’s got one hell of a kick.” 

“Better than caffeine.” Tony agreed, “Still, you should sit down. Before you fall down.” He said, and despite obviously not wanting to, Anthony stopped in his pacing and sat on one of the stools, though he kept moving, bouncing his leg and tapping on anything within reach. He hadn’t seemed to notice that he was limping, didn’t seem to notice that he was shaking so hard that he was pretty much vibrating. 

Tony knew that better than, well, anyone else. It woke you the fuck up, that’s for sure, but it also made it a lot easier to ignore the reason you were tired in the first place, various cuts and bruises and scrapes that your body needed to sleep to heal, and when you crashed, you crashed  _ hard _ . After Vanko, he’d  _ still _ been ready to go, ready to start with damage control, start hauling rubble despite the fact that the suit was sparking from most of the joints and probably would’ve collapsed if he’d actually tried to lift anything heavier than Pepper. Luckily, Pepper had complained that her ankle hurt, really, and that she wanted a lift home, and Tony had obliged, and then collapsed face-first onto the couch and slept for 16 hours straight.

If Tony was right on just  _ when _ his double had been plucked from, he’d guess they had about two hours before exactly that happened. “Right.” He said, didn’t particularly look forward to this. “And, I  _ know _ you’re gonna fight me on this, because I know myself, but you’ve gotta get patched up.” Anthony, predictably, reacted by opening his mouth to refuse, and Tony talked over whatever he was going to say, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m not sending you to a hospital.” He explained, “Bruce could take a look, if you want, I could call Rhodey down, I could help you out, or, hell, the bots can handle pretty much anything short of actual surgery, and If i remember right,” He said, tried not to remember, couldn’t really help it, his brain dredging up the phantom pain of the burns, bruises, and bullet wounds without his permission. 

He grit his teeth, pushed the memories back and away with a vengeance, tried to ignore the fact that Anthony was staring at him.

“Trust me.” He said, softer than before. “The sooner you get something on it, the less it’ll scar, and I’m sure that you don’t want to keep some of them” Anthony winced, a full-body flinch, and, yeah, Tony had been right. He had been right, and for a second his vision whited out with  _ rage _ , fury at the rings and at Stane and at fucking  _ everyone _ who had let this happen to a  _ kid. _ “Whatever you want. It’s up to you, but you have to get at least some bandages on.” He said, and Anthony nodded.

“Ok. Can you-” 

“Sure.” Tony said, instantly and without hesitation, snapping his fingers at DUM-E to get the first aid kit, followed the bot over to where Anthony was had stripped his shirt off, and Tony winced at the angry red blisters on his shoulders, down his arms, from where the heated metal of the armor had burnt through the layers underneath, and later, had not been helped by the desert sun. He tried not to itch at the matching, long-healed scars on his own arms. “You’re gonna be ok.” Tony said, didn’t look up at the kid’s face as he got out the bandages and cold packs, snapped them in half to start the reactor that would chill them off, passed them to Anthony, who obediently held them on his shoulder until enough time had passed. 

They went on like that, Anthony holding the cold packs to whatever burns needed them, Tony bandaging and wrapping them after. The ones on his shoulders were the worst, the newest, and Tony would’ve wondered how the kid had hidden them from SHIELD, convinced them he was fine, if he hadn’t done the same, not with SHIELD, but with Pepper and Rhodey and the team countless times before. 

Really, it was the one on his back Tony was most worried about. Not because it was life-threatening, or would hurt worse than the fresh burns, he knew from experience that it was the stretch and pull of healing skin that was the worst, along with the fucking itch that never seemed to really go away, not nearly as painful as the fresh burns. 

“I’m going to put some gel on it,” Tony said, “It’ll help. With the scarring.” He explained, waited for Anthony to give a short nod. 

“How bad?” He asked, and he wasn’t asking about the injury itself. 

Tony wished he could lie. “It’ll scar.” He said, and Anthony flinched, shoulders drawing tight despite how the motion must’ve hurt, “But you’re younger than I was, and Yinsen-” He broke off, cleared his throat when it threatened to crack over the name, “He did a good job.” Tony finished. “It won’t be bad. Not like- yeah.” 

Anthony nodded, didn’t say anything, didn’t ask  _ how _ bad bad was, didn’t ask to see evidence of just how lucky he’d gotten off, and Tony was pathetically grateful for that. He just slipped his shirt on, just one instead of the layers he’d been wearing before. “Thanks.” He said, visibly perked up. “Hey, so, I changed the reactor, and i’m patched up, can I fly now?” He asked, and damn if that enthusiasm wasn’t infectious. 

Tony laughed, scooped the gauntlet he’d been working on repairing before Fury had called him in out of a drawer and tossed it to Anthony. “Gotta make sure they fit, first,” He explained, “Probably have to do some adjusting because of how tiny you are.” 

“Hey!” Anthony objected, glaring, and tossed one of the cold packs at Tony’s face. Tony caught it, still laughing. 

“Hey, you wanna fly, or not?” He said, grabbed a pair of prototype boots, still shiny silver instead of reading and gold, another gauntlet, wheeled a took kit over to the workbench, set one of the boots in front of Anthony.  “Then they’ve gotta fit.” He said, caught Anthony’s wide-eyed expression like he didn’t understand what Tony was offering. Tony nudged him, dragged a stool over and sat down beside him with his own gear. “Come on, I’m sure you can figure it out. Someone’s gotta start pulling their weight around here aside from me, and god knows it’s not gonna be DUM-E.” 

Anthony snorted, a little burst of laughter when DUM-E beeped at Tony in offence, and hell if the sound didn’t sound like a victory.


End file.
